Will Winslow was the worst boy in the village; his father's indulgence
had spoiled him.
"Don't check the boy," he would say to his mother, "you will crush all
the manhood in him."
And so he grew up the terror of his neighbors. The old, the infirm, and
the crippled were the especial objects of his vicious merriment.
One poor woman, bent by age and infirmities, he assailed with his
ridicule, as she daily went out upon her crutch, to draw water from the
well near her house, and just within the playground of the schoolhouse.
"Only look at her," he would say, "isn't she the letter S now, with an
extra crook in it?" and his cruel laugh, as he followed closely behind,
mocking and mimicking her, called forth from her no rebuke.